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Category: Alternate Universe Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff, General, Romance Warnings: Extreme Language, Sexual Situations Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 725 Summary: Their nightmares and demons bound them together. Their love helped them to survive. Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley knew they needed each other; the trouble was in admitting it. Hitcount: Story Total: 277277; Chapter Total: 14804 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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Chapter 7 Harry sighed in satisfaction as he approached the Burrow with Mr. Weasley. It’d been a long summer with his Aunt and Uncle. His friends had only been allowed to contact him occasionally because the Dursleys didn’t like owls flying in and out of Number 4 Privet Drive. With few letters, the summer had dragged on interminably. Ron and Hermione had written as regularly as they could, but Ginny had written only a few times. Her letters had been like her: lively, sassy and littered with curse words. The last letter from Ron had been the best. “The World Quidditch Cup!” Ron had written.“Can you believe it?” Mr. Weasley had been able to procure tickets to this year’s Quidditch Cup and had invited Harry to join them. He couldn’t decide which made him more excited -- the Quidditch Cup or that he was done with the Dursleys for the summer. He grinned at Ron as his friend held open the door to the Burrow. Damn, he was looking forward to the next three weeks. “Harry!” Hermione jumped up from the kitchen table and hugged him. After Mrs. Weasley’s greeting hug, Harry wasn’t sure he would have any feeling left in his arms but Hermione managed to squeeze the last few nerve endings. “Where’s Ginny?” Harry asked after he’d escaped Mrs. Weasley’s attempts to feed him and caught up with Ron and Hermione. Hermione had arrived at the Burrow only a few days before, and she was full of stories of her trip to France. “Upstairs,” Hermione said. “She was still sleeping when I came down.” She lowered her voice. “She’s a right bitch to wake up in the morning.” Ron choked on his sandwich. “Hermione! I can’t believe you said that!” Hermione flushed. “Sorry, Ginny’s been a bad influence on me, I guess.” Harry laughed and pushed back his chair from the table. “I’m gonna take my trunk upstairs and find her.” Ron helped Harry drag his trunk up to his room and left him alone to unpack. When he’d finished, Harry went down one flight of stairs and knocked on Ginny’s partially open door. “Come in.” Harry pushed open the door with his foot and stood leaning in her doorway, his hands in his pockets. “Hey, Fury.” Ginny, who was sitting at her desk brushing her hair, turned around with a bright smile. ”Harry!” She set the hairbrush down and walked across the room to greet him. “I didn’t realize you’d arrived!” It was a bit awkward at first. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to greet her, but Ginny solved that problem by saying, “Fuck it,” and throwing her arms around his neck. “Wow,” he managed. “A hug initiated by Ginny Weasley. It must be my lucky day.” She pulled back and wrinkled her nose at him. “Shut it.” She hugged him again, and as she pulled away she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “I — um — I missed you,” she said, backing away. She looked everywhere but at him and Harry knew the admission had cost her. Without realizing what he was doing, he put a hand on her shoulder and let it slide down her arm to her hand where he laced their fingers together. “Me too. I thought you’d write more.” She looked a little guilty. “I’m sorry. I know I should have -- but I’m not one for writing I’m afraid.” “It’s okay,” he assured her. “Neither am I. But the treacle tart was great. So were the dungbombs. Thanks.” “Did you set them off?” She dragged him into her room and shoved him on the bed while she sat back down at her desk and resumed brushing her hair. “Yeah, right before I left,” he said. “I think your dad knew what was going on, but the Dursleys were so rude to him that he pretended not to notice.” She grinned at him in the mirror. Harry found himself mesmerized by her hair as she continued to brush it. Long strokes with her brush made it shine, and he could smell that same scent he’d smelled back in June when they’d been in the hospital wing. He had the strongest urge to bury his face in it. “Should I leave you alone with my hair?” Ginny asked an amused tone in her voice. “Would you?” he teased. “Sorry, it’s just -- I’ve never seen a girl brush her hair before. Guys don’t really spend a lot of time brushing their hair.” “Well, I can see how it wouldn’t do much good for your hair.” She held out her brush. “Would you like to brush it?” Harry stared at the brush in her hand. “I don’t know how.” She tsked and stood up. “I’ll show you.” She climbed onto the bed and kneeled behind him. “Lean back,” she instructed. Harry leaned back cautiously until he could feel Ginny’s thighs against his back. She placed one hand on top of his head and began brushing with the other. Over and over she stroked back the hair from his head in every direction. The bristles of the brush were stiff and made a pleasant scratching feeling on his scalp. The gesture seemed intimate, and Harry didn’t want to talk and break the spell. ”How’s that?” “Feels good,” he sighed. “Never knew what I was missing out on, did I?” Ginny’s heart broke a little; her mother had been brushing her hair since she could remember. It was a mother thing to do -- she couldn’t imagine Petunia Dursley ever doing such a thing for her nephew. It was a small thing but one Harry had missed out on. She vowed to brush his hair more often. Just as Harry was getting sleepy, Ginny put down the brush and used her fingers to stroke through his hair. It felt good but in a different way. Her fingers massaged and scratched his scalp as she combed his hair in different directions. “I don’t think it looks any better,” she said doubtfully. She crawled off the bed and knelt on the floor between his legs, her arms propped up on his thighs. “My turn.” She handed him the brush. Harry took the brush and mimicked her earlier movements. As he pulled he brush down through her hair, he was amazed at how silky and soft it was. It didn’t look any different from his own until he touched it -- then it was all too obvious. Plus, his hair didn’t smell like flowers. “Are you sniffing my hair again?” Ginny asked suspiciously. “Yeah,” Harry said defensively. “So what?” She laughed. “You’re weird.” “Is it your soap or what?” He sniffed the hair again, and then lifted the mass away from her neck to sniff the bare skin of her shoulder. “It’s not just your hair,” he said accusingly. “Your skin smells good too.” She laughed again. “I’m a girl. We’re supposed to smell good.” “Bloody distracting…” he mumbled. Harry continued to brush Ginny’s hair for several minutes in silence until he heard a shocked voice from the doorway. “Harry? What in the bloody hell are you doing?” Ginny and Harry both twisted around to see Ron standing in the doorway and holding onto Harry’s Firebolt. Harry flushed but Ginny grinned and stood up, taking the brush from his hand. “Just catching up,” she said smoothly. “Was he...Harry, were you brushing her hair?” ”Yeah,” Harry stood up and decided he would NOT be embarrassed. “She brushed mine. I was returning the favour.” Ron’s gaze swung back and forth between them. “You guys are brushing each other’s hair,” he said slowly. Harry shrugged. “Her hair is soft, and it smells good. It was nice.” “Are you a girl now?” Ron asked incredulously. “Oh, shut up, Ron,” Ginny said impatiently. “Mum used to brush your hair all the time when you were a kid. Harry’d never had his hair brushed before. I was just showing him what it was like.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother. She willed him to understand why he should not tease Harry about this. Ron must have gotten the hint because he just raised his eyebrows and held out Harry’s Firebolt. “Whatever. Let’s go for a fly. Hermione is going to meet us down there.” “Hermione is going to fly?” “Nah, she’s going to sit under a tree and read a book,” Ron said in a disgusted voice. “I’m not sure where we went wrong with that one.” Harry grinned and took the broom. “Coming, Gin?” ”Yeah.” Ginny grabbed a hair band and fastened her hair back from her face before tugging her trainers on while Ron and Harry waited impatiently. “All right, let’s go.” They joined Hermione in the kitchen and took off for the makeshift Quidditch pitch behind the Burrow. Ginny and Ron stopped by the broom shed and grabbed two old brooms. Hermione settled herself under a tree while Harry and Ginny took turns playing chaser against Ron’s keeper. They played three-on-three for a while, and then Harry and Ginny raced for the snitch. They reached it nearly at the same time, and then argued for a good ten minutes over whose hand had closed over it first before Ron finally intervened and declared a tie. When they landed, Ginny eyed Harry’s broom with a gleam in her eye. “Can I ride it?” Harry looked down at his Firebolt. “Sure. Haven’t you already though?” ”Not nearly enough.” Harry hopped off and handed her the broom. “Go on, then.” Ginny mounted the broom with reverence and took off like a shot. Hermione looked up from her book when she heard a loud “whoop” and watched as Ginny soared into the sky. Ginny levelled out above the trees and took her hands off the wood and gripped the broom with her thighs. She closed her eyes and let the wind blow back her hair. Freedom. She ignored the shouts of her brother below her to hold onto the damned broom and flew a few more minutes before plummeting to the ground. She came to a screeching halt in front of Ron and Harry. “Harry,” she said breathlessly, “teach me how to do a Wronski Feint.” Ron sputtered but Harry’s eyes lit up. “Do you want in front or back?” ”Front of course.” He smirked at her and motioned for her to scoot up on the broom shaft before mounting behind her. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back between his thighs. He wrapped one arm around her waist and put his hand on top of hers on the broom so he could guide them. “And now, Fury,” he murmured into her ear. “I’ll show you some real flying.” Ginny leaned back into him, her head tucked underneath his chin as he quickly accelerated them to a height above the trees. He levelled the broom and took his arm from her waist so he could grip the broom with both hands right above hers. “Hold on tight,” he warned. “You’ve got to use your hands and your thighs.” Ginny gripped the broom tighter and nodded to show she was ready. ”Scared?” ”No.” ”I’m going to pull up at the last minute; just before it looks like we’re going to hit the ground.” “I know, Harry,” she said impatiently. “Just get the bloody hell on with it.” Harry dipped the broom downwards and plummeted to the ground at an alarmingly increasing rate. Ginny felt the force of the wind press her back against his chest so that there was no space between them. Even though they were hurling towards the ground at several miles an hour, she’d never felt safer. Faster and faster they went. The closer they got to the ground, the more the wind screamed past her ears. Just as Harry had warned her, it looked like they were about to hit until he gave an almighty wrench on the broom to level it out just above the grass. They levelled out slowly, and Ginny knew that if Harry hadn’t timed things just right, he wouldn’t have been able to pull them out of the dive. They flew almost lazily parallel to the ground as Harry slowed them down. Once Ginny had caught her breath she said, “Again.” Harry laughed and angled the head of the broom up to the sky. “All right, Fury. Again.” ******* As early morning broke over Ottery St. Catchpole, four Weasley children, Harry and Hermione all trudged sleepily up the grass hill. They were following the disgustingly cheerful Mr. Weasley towards the Portkey that would take them to the World Quidditch Cup. Harry, who was still suffering the effects of a very odd dream from the night before, had never heard of a Portkey, and so he was sort of blindly following the Weasley family -- not many of whom were more awake than he was. Ginny, who had never been a morning person, was lagging behind with bleary eyes and a sort of stumbling gait. Harry looked back to find her rubbing her eyes and yawning so widely that she tripped over a rock in her path and nearly fell over. Sighing, he handed his bag to Ron who wordlessly slung it over his shoulder with his own and walked back a few feet to Ginny. “Give me your bag.” Ginny handed it over without question, too sleepy to realize what was happening. Harry took the satchel and slung it diagonally across his chest. “Hop on,” he said, turning his back to her. “What?” ”It’s called a piggyback ride,” he said impatiently. The others were getting pretty far ahead by now. “You’re too sleepy to walk, Fury. I’ll carry you.” Ginny looked at him gratefully but said, “It’s too far. You can’t carry me all that way!” “Please,” he rolled his eyes. “You weigh what -- less than 80 pounds? C’mon, I don’t want to get left behind.” “You’re all right, Potter,” Ginny sighed. She hopped up on his back and wrapped her arms around his neck. Harry caught her behind the knees and walked quickly to catch up with the others. Ginny yawned in his ear and laid her head down on his shoulder while he walked. “M’sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m not much of a morning person.” “No kidding.” Harry carried Ginny for a good twenty minutes. Although she wasn’t exactly heavy, he was exhausted by the time they reached the Portkey. The Portkey looked like a harmless old boot on top of a hill but when it activated, he felt an unpleasant tug behind his navel, and then they were swirling through a windy vortex. He struggled to maintain his grip on the boot and let go when Mr. Weasley shouted it was time to do so. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George all landed in an unceremonious tangle on the ground while Mr. Weasley and the other wizards they’d met at the Portkey floated genially down to the ground with the air of people who’d travelled many Portkeys. Whatever Harry had expected to find at the Quidditch World Cup, the actuality far exceeded his expectations. Never before had he seen so many witches and wizards in one place. It was rather freeing -- not to have to hide what one was. He kept turning around in circles as they walked to the tent Mr. Weasley had reserved for them because he didn’t want to miss anything. They arrived at a small pup tent that on the outside didn’t look like it would fit two people, let alone seven. When he entered he was amazed to find a large spacious area with a living room, kitchen and three bedrooms on one side. He and Ron stowed their bags in a room that had four bunk beds and immediately gained permission from Mr. Weasley to go walk around. “Stay close together,” he warned them. “I don’t want you getting lost.” Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny set out with Fred and George and were soon swept up by the Quidditch fever that had gripped the large wizarding camp. They spent all day trying to see everything. They had lunch from one of the various food tents, and Harry had to stop himself from buying several things at a market big enough to rival Diagon Alley. Now thoroughly exhausted, the six friends trooped back to their tent to find Mr. Weasley stirring a pot of something on the stove. Harry blessed Mrs. Weasley’s forethought as they dug into the rich chicken stew she’d sent along. After dinner, Harry was surprised to see Fred pull out a deck of Muggle playing cards. He shuffled them expertly and raised an eyebrow at his sister. “Fancy a game?” She grinned evilly at him. “Are you sure?” “I’ve been practicing,” Fred said, pushing a chair away from the table with his foot. “Sit down.” “Oi,” he said to George and Ron who were in a heated discussion about Quidditch, “let’s play poker.” “You guys know how to play poker?” Harry asked in astonishment. “But it’s a muggle game.” “Dad taught us years ago,” George said, digging a sack of poker chips out of his bag. “We play a lot.” “We play because we’re trying to beat Ginny,” Ron scoffed, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “She’s been kicking our arses since she was six.” “Ginny’s the best,” Fred admitted, not without a bit of pride. “Hermione are you in?” “How is it that I didn’t know this about you?” Harry asked Ginny when Hermione reluctantly joined them at the table. She turned her nose up at him and took the cards Fred was sliding across the table. “You don’t know everything about me, Potter.” Two hours later, Harry was forced to concede that if he had known the depth of Ginny’s talent for poker playing, he would have thought twice before entering the game. He had learned to play poker on the sly by watching Dudley and his friends but had never actually played a hand until this evening. Fred was right -- Ginny was good. Right now, Ginny’s face was stoic as she and Hermione went head to head. Ginny kept raising the pot casually as if she was so indifferent to her hand that it didn’t matter whether she won or lost. Hermione was flustered and had only a small handful of chips left. “If Ginny raises again, Hermione’ll have to fold or go all in,” Fred commented to Ron under his breath. Hermione bit her lip; she would be out of the game if Ginny had a better hand. “Ginny won’t do it,” Harry said. “She’s too nice.” Ginny turned her head to glare at him. “Harry Potter, you take that back.” “Take back what?” She shuddered. “That crack about me being nice.” “You are nice,” Harry teased her. “You’re nice and sweet and girly.” Ginny raised the pot again, tossing in the exact amount of chips that Hermione had in her hand and put down her cards before reaching over to punch Harry in the arm. “Ow!” he rubbed his soon-to-be bruised arm. “That hurt!” “You deserved it,” she said glibly. “And just for that comment, I’m going after you next.” “I’m shaking in my shoes, Fury.” Ginny’s eyes gleamed as she showed her cards, and Hermione moaned in defeat. It was the first amount of emotion Ginny had shown since they’d sat down. “Believe me,” she said to Harry, “you should be.” Harry’s defeat was a well-thought out and executed plan of humiliation. He hadn’t been playing too badly until Ginny set her sights on revenge. The defeat was a drawn out affair designed to make the humiliation last as long as possible. Ginny knew just the right moves, the right facial expressions to make and the right things to say to goad him into betting on hands he knew he couldn’t win. By the time she’d cleaned him out, she’d also sent Ron and George packing and had totally destroyed any thought of ever playing with her again. “Oh, you’ll be back,” Ron said wisely. “It’s like the ultimate challenge -- see if you can beat Ginny at poker. You won’t be able to resist.” “She’s sort of smug about it, isn’t she?” Harry said, watching the last two players in disgust. “Shouldn’t have said she was nice,” Ron snickered. He thumped him on the back and followed George to bed. Harry had no idea how long Fred’s defeat lasted as he went to bed shortly after Ron. But the next morning, both Fred and Ginny were the last to get up and Fred was in a particularly grumpy mood. “Eat up!” Mr. Weasley boomed. “Last time the World Cup lasted three days!” They soon joined the throng of spectators eager to enter the massive stadium in the distance. It took nearly an hour to enter and find their seats. Harry watched everything with wide eyes, determined not to miss anything. Ginny said he looked like a tourist but he just shrugged and kept looking. He was fascinated with all the magic around them. What would it have been like to grow up in this world? Where magic was a part of everyday life? Harry stood next to Ginny as the match began, and she climbed up onto his shoulders when Victor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, entered the stadium. Krum was evidently an internationally-famous Quidditch star, but Harry had never heard of him. Standing in the stadium, holding onto Ginny’s knees so she wouldn’t fall, Harry cheered with the rest of them–he cheered louder even because for the first time in his life, he realized the wizarding world went far beyond Hogwarts. Someday, he decided, he would leave his Aunt and Uncle’s house and live like a wizard. He would never look back. ******* They had barely returned to the tent and sat down to dinner when the camp’s frivolity was interrupted by shouts and screams from outside. Mr. Weasley jumped up and ran outside to see what was happening. When he returned his face was pale, and his wand was in his hand. “Fred, George, take care of your sister,” he barked. “All of you need to leave the tent and head for the forest. Wait for me at the edge and stay together.” They all stared at him in various stages of eating, not sure whether he was serious or not. “Now!” he said, raising his voice. “I’ve got to go help the others.” They followed him out of the tent, and he hurried out to join a group of older wizards who were nervously trying to direct an evacuation of the nearby tents. Harry and the others joined the exodus of witches and wizards heading towards the forest. Harry tried to stay with the others, but the crowd jostled him and pressed forward until they broke through their small group. Hermione looked back at him desperately, her hand latched onto Ron’s sleeve. She called his name, urging him to hurry up, but the crowd surged, and Hermione and Ron were swept further away. Harry could see them trying to reach Fred and George, but they too were pulled away. He felt a momentary sense of panic when he couldn’t see Ginny but then he felt a small hand slip into his, and he looked down in relief to see Ginny standing beside him. She tugged on his hand, and he stopped as the crowd swept past him; she was looking behind them, and he followed her gaze. A group of wizards dressed in black robes were in the distance. They were laughing and jeering at a muggle couple they were levitating and torturing in the air. Harry felt a chill of cold fear run up his spine. The wizards were hooded as they moved through the camp, causing destruction to the surrounding tents. He couldn’t see their faces but the air stank of dark magic. “Who are they?” Harry asked. The muggle man screamed when one of them set his slippers on fire and then immediately put it out. Ginny’s face was grim. “Death Eaters. C’mon.” She pushed past him and, still holding tightly to his hand, led them towards the forest where, hopefully, they could catch up with Hermione and her brothers. “Ginny,” Harry panted, “how do you know they’re Death Eaters? Have you seen one before?” ”No,” she replied, pushing aside a low-draping limb, “but I’ve seen pictures and heard my parents speak about them. Did you notice their masks?” “No, I couldn’t see past their hoods.” “They had white masks,” she said shortly. “Just like my dad said they used to wear.” “Harry!” Harry heard his name, and he and Ginny stopped walking to see Ron and Hermione hurrying towards them. “Ginny, thank goodness,” Ron said in relief. “We couldn’t find you, and then Fred and George were gone-“ “I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I was with Harry.” Ron looked down at their still-joined hands, and Ginny dropped Harry’s hand quickly. There was no need to hold hands now. Harry smiled faintly at her, and when they fell in step behind Ron and Hermione to go back to the edge of the forest to wait for Mr. Weasley, he reached down and grabbed her hand again. She squeezed it gratefully, and he tugged her closer, wrapping a brotherly arm around her shoulders as they walked. Harry explained about what they had seen after the four of them had gotten separated, and Hermione looked over her shoulder anxiously. “Are you sure, Ginny?” ”Pretty sure,” Ginny said, “but I could be wrong. I hope I’m wrong.” Hermione suddenly stopped short at the edge of the trees, causing Harry to run into her. “No, I don’t think you’re wrong,” she said, her voice faint as she looked up at the sky. They all looked up then, and Harry saw a bright, sickly green skull shimmering in the air. A large serpent was winding its way through the open mouth of the skull. Just looking at it made his scar hurt. He rubbed his forehead, wincing. Ginny looked at him questioningly, but he just shook his head telling her silently to leave it alone. “Blimey, what’s that?” Ron asked. “It’s,” Hermione cleared her throat. “It’s his mark. The Dark Mark. Voldemort’s.” Ron flinched. “His Death Eaters used it as a symbol,” she continued. “Usually as a sign they’d been there…and usually after they’d done something horrible. I read about it last year…” “Well, shit,” Ginny sighed abruptly. “This just keeps getting worse.” |
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